


This Tangled Mess

by orphan_account



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M, Post-Split
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 06:29:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7033525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A one-shot kind of. Based off this prompt on tumblr about Ryan and Brendon's dogs bringing them together. Post Split.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Tangled Mess

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this on tumblr a while back and figured I'd add it onto here.

Damn, it was a little hotter than I expected and Dottie has to pay for it. I figured a walk through the city would be nice, get us out of the house I’m constantly in. Well its 89 degrees out, turns Dottie and I are currently lost in the streets of LA. We shouldn’t be. I’ve lived here for…I actually don’t remember, don’t care to remember.

            I know I’m hot but that’s because apparently I decided a leather jacket and back jeans was a good outfit choice to walk my dog in. I don’t know where my mind has been lately, or rather I do. That damn interview Brendon did a couple days ago. So he can go from pretending I don’t exist to talking about me in an interview? It was probably to garner sympathy, or attention. Is there really any difference? He claims we texted a couple of months ago. But no, we haven’t. We haven’t even talked since the Halloween party and that was... We’ll just leave it with a non-answer. I don’t know why I went there. I knew he and Sarah would be there together, probably in some matchey couple costumes, because they look like that kind of couple, and I was right.

            That damn interview. I need to stop thinking about it. I’m here to walk Dottie and get on with my life, not think about Brendon-fucking-Urie.

            I round the corner to see what looks like a dog-friendly ice cream shop. I haven’t had ice cream in forever, and it being dog friendly-which I now know because of the wooden sign standing near the entrance- I think I’ll go. I reach down to pat Dottie on the head, she’s panting and I feel terrible, it’s too hot for her today.

            As I step inside the parlor I push my sunglasses off my eyes and onto my head. The place isn’t busy and there’s only one other person here. A young man with a corgi. He looks to be about twenty, with blonde hair and blue eyes, tan, the typical young man you see here in LA. He and his dog share one side of the corner booth. He looks up as my eyes glance back to the front counter, I feel his gaze. Not many people still remember me and I try to keep it that way. I don’t need someone to spot me and begin to scream “Look its Ryan Ross!” The screamers were always the worst about being famous, or close to it. His gaze only lingers for a moment- _good_ \- I’m not really in the mood today. Or any day for that matter.

            When I realize I’ve been standing, lost in my own thoughts, by the front counter not ordering anything, I startle myself and step forward smiling. It’s a forced and fake smile but the young lady doesn’t seem to notice. In fact she looks a little bored, like she doesn’t really care to be here.

            “What can I get for you sir?” she asks not impolitely, but also not with any enthusiasm.

            “A chocolate cone and a water. But could I get one of those ice cream bowls as well?” I reply. She nods and before she can tell me the total I take my wallet from my back pocket and hold out my card. I don’t care how much it is, I don’t need to. I have some left over money from my band days and some from whatever else I’ve been doing. Somehow I still manage to get money, I don’t know where from mostly but my bank account is never empty.

            The woman, Janice, her nametag says, _what an unfortunate name_ , sneers but takes my card. It takes a moment for the machine to read it, all the while she gives me a once-over. Janice isn’t trying to be subtle about it which makes me uncomfortable. I always hated that people would so blatantly stare at me like they wanted to eat me. Thankfully the machine goes through and she heads to the back to get the ice cream.

            I tap my foot impatiently on the ground to the beat of some new song playing in the shop. Dottie is laying on the ground still panting, and it looks as if she’s drooled on the tiled floor. I smirk a little at that, Janice will have to clean it. I hope Dottie slobbers more.

            In that moment the bell on the door jingles and my head jerks up, heart racing. My heart is always racing. But it’s just a girl with a dog. She’s dressed like she just came from a jog, shorts and a tank top, and she’s a little sweaty looking. She has a Dalmatian and its panting, so my assumptions were correct, she was running. She brushes her hair back from her face, she’s pretty, but she’s young. A smile as she meets my eyes, and it’s a kind smile. I return it surprisingly and step aside to let her order. Her dog sniffs at Dottie, who had just jumped up at the prospect of a friend.

            Janice has returned with my ice cream, the water and the bowl for Dottie. I slide Dottie’s leash down to my elbow and grab everything. We make our way to the first available booth and I immediately pour Dottie the water. She messily drinks it all in record time so I pour more. This time she drinks it slower, but messy all the same. It’s then that I remember my ice cream because I feel it melting on my hand. I eat it slowly, trying to remember the last time I had ice cream and I cant. I think I’ll buy some on my way home if I can find it.

            The girl who walked in earlier walks past me and sits with the surfer looking dude and I frown, she doesn’t seem like the type to be with that type of guy. But who am I to judge? People should be with who they want to. I shake my head because I do not want to go there. So instead I focus on Dottie. I always focus on Dottie and right now she seems content. I can’t count the number of times Dottie has helped me take my mind off things I shouldn’t think about. My hand automatically reaches down to scratch behind her floppy ear and I find myself smiling as she looks up at me, panting again. I pour the rest of the water in the bowl and finish my cone.

            We leave when Dottie seems to be cool enough to head back out. The couple are still in the booth and the girl smiles again at me as I leave. I hope she doesn’t figure out who I am. I hope no one figures that out anymore. Staying under the radar is all I can hope for now. Maybe moving to LA wasn’t the best choice for that, but LA seemed like the place to be, and I needed to do something.

            As I’m rounding the corner I came from I realize just how bad of a choice LA really was. Because there he is. The man whom I thought I didn’t want to see again. The man who, lately, is all I seem to think about. Brendon-fucking-Urie. Walking his dogs. In LA. On this street. This street I’m on. And he’s spotted me. And I’ve spotted him. And his dogs have seen Dottie. And Dottie has seen them. And Dottie is pulling at the leash and suddenly I’m walking towards him. And suddenly I think I’m going to be sick. His expression mirrors mine as his dogs pull him forward. Suddenly our dogs are all over each other and both of us still haven’t stopped staring. My heart is beating so fast I can’t feel it. I think that might be bad. This is really bad. But Brendon looks good. He’s wearing a white t-shirt and black skinny jeans with ripped knees. I notice Sarah isn’t with him. I figured they would do everything together. He’s wearing all black converse. I own all black converse.         

            He clears his throat and I jerk my head up from his shoes.

            “Ryan. Hey.” He forces out, like he can’t be seen talking to me. But those two words, the first words he’s physically spoken to me since we bumped into each other in a bar. That had been a couple of years ago. I know my hands are trembling, so I grip Dottie’s leash harder.

            “Brendon,” I manage, “How are things?” Dottie’s leash has gotten tangled with his two dogs. I try not to let it show that that is the last thing I wanted to happen. He seems to not know how to respond and he looks down at our dogs, tangled and messy. Just like this situation. And I don’t mean just this already awkward meeting.

            “Good, uhm, good yeah. Things are good with me. Um how are things with you? Good I hope?” he replies finally, and it’s all rushed, his voice an octave higher. He talks like this when he has anxiety. I would know, I helped him with it before we got on stage. Then I remember he’s expecting an answer, and I’ve always had a problem with blurting out the first thing that comes to my mind, so of course my response is,

            “Shitty. Honestly things are bad. Just me and Dottie, but you know, we get each other. We’re good.” I immediately want to hit myself. Where has honesty ever gotten me? Cause I really want Brendon to know that my life has been a wreck for the past seven years. Because I really want to make him understand that the split hurt me to. Either way I want to take back my words as soon as they blurt out of my mouth. Unfortunately that’s the wonder of words, once they’re out there, they’re permanently out there. But before he can reply or say something about my slip up I have a question.

            “Why did you tell everyone in that interview that you texted me? You know you haven’t contacted me, and I know I haven’t tried contacting you since the event with the stalker. So why?” I demand.

            “You watched that?”

            “I asked you a question, the least could do is answer mine before changing the subject.”

            “Right,” he replies before pulling on the dog leashes. He runs his hand through his hair. I like his old hair better. It felt better. Or at least his hair now looks like it wouldn’t feel as nice. I wouldn’t know. “I don’t really have an answer. Maybe I thought saying it happened would make me do it?” he says, but it seems like it was more of talking to himself. “I’m sorry things are bad,” he adds. But he doesn’t sound really sorry, he sounds like he’s saying it because he has to.

            “Don’t say sorry if you don’t mean it,” I say, not meanly, but not kindly. Kind of exasperated more or less.

            “I do,” he pauses, looks up at me, “mean it, I mean. Just because we don’t keep in touch doesn’t mean I don’t think about you,” he finishes but looks down towards the dogs. They’re still tangled up.

            “Don’t pull that. You could’ve answered any of my messages. Phones work both ways you know.” My voice sounds angrier than it should be.

            “I know that Ry. And don’t you start either. You could’ve said ‘Hi’ at the Halloween party instead of leaving the moment we knew each other was there. And don’t change the subject, I answered your question, now you answer mine,” he replies, but he doesn’t sound angry. I wish he did. It would make me feel better, he should be angry at me. But he also called me Ry. He used my nickname. Why would he do that?

            “I was sick. I had too much to drink, don’t flatter yourself. And yes I watched it. Every fan we’ve ever had tagged me in it.” Now my voice doesn’t sound angry. It doesn’t really sound like me at all. He called me Ry.

            “I forgot that you’re like this sometimes. And I know you left because of me Ry, you drove yourself to the party, and you don’t drink and drive. At least you never did. Did you watch the whole interview? Are you still doing music?” Brendon replies, and he shifts a little to lean on the side of the building. I can’t relax, so I stand straight.

            “Like what? Bitter? No, this is just me Brendon. You wouldn’t know anymore though. Yes I watched the whole interview. Ryan Gosling you say? Interesting choice,” he raises an eyebrow, “And I’ve written some stuff but I haven’t recorded anything. I don’t think I’m going to,” I answer and he chuckles to himself a little, his head facing down so I can’t tell what he’s laughing at. “What?” I demand.

            “I guess I really don’t know you anymore. It has been a while. And I have a thing for Ryans I guess,” my eyes flash to him but he’s looking at our dogs. “You should record that ‘stuff’. It might be good,” he laughs to himself again and I can’t figure out what is so funny. “We should fix this. This is just awkward right now,” he finishes. So that’s what’s funny. This. Me.

            “Maybe another time” is my reply. I look down at our dogs. They’re untangled now and Dottie is sitting.

            “Ry,” he forces out. It looks like he wants to step forward, but thinks better of it and simply pauses.

            “What?” I demand again, my voice raising. “Do you want me to agree with you? That this is awkward? Do you want me to say ‘Yes Brendon, let’s catch up some time because I’ve actually been waiting to hear you say that for forever?’ Would you like me to say that I don’t like it being like this and I just want to be friends again? Because there it is! I’ll say it! I miss us. Not even that, just everything and I’ve been trying not to think about it and I just happen to bump into you one day and you talk like…like… you expect me just to be okay with you talking about me in an interview but also claiming not to know me! It fucking hurts. So sorry if I come off as a dick, but that’s how I feel about that. Now I have to leave because Dottie is getting too hot and she’s all I have so excuse me.” I pull Dottie’s leash, not hard, but enough to let her know we’re leaving.

            Brendon actually has the nerve to step in my way. He’s got this disbelieving look on his face and it just angers me more.

            “Listen. I know, I know I’ve been… well not a good person, at least not to you. I… the only way I could not think about the past was to pretend it didn’t happen, and well you being part of my past, I’d like to forget that. Those were not good times for anyone involved. And you don’t get to make me look like the bad guy here. You left the band. You left your best friend since grade school behind and we picked up the pieces. And I talked about you in that interview because I figured it was time for me to stop. You exist and so does our past, and I can’t stop that. So yes. I think we should try to work towards being friends again. I don’t think us ignoring each other’s existences is good. And Dottie looks fine with Bogart and Penny, I think it’s you who wants to leave,” Brendon replies. “Ry c’mon”.

            “Don’t call me that.”

            “Ry? Why?”

            “Brendon don’t. You know why.”

            “Because I used to call you that, and you used to call me Bren? Because you want to agree with me, but you also don’t know how you feel? I know you Ryan Ross.”

            “Fuck! Yes! Fine! Fine. You win Brendon,” I yell clenching my fists, momentarily forgetting I’m holding Dottie’s leash.

            “I wasn’t aware we were making this a competition,” he starts with a sly smile, but an angry look sent his way wipes it off his face. “Just, let’s get together some time. For a drink, or just hanging out. We have each other’s numbers, let’s use them,” he finishes. My anger fades, I want to be angry with him. I really do, but I miss everything that comes with Brendon Urie. I miss what we had, and even though that can’t happen again, maybe we could start something new. Dottie and his dogs, Bogart and Penny seem to get along well enough.

            “I’m lost. Do you know your way around here?” I ask simply, looking at him. I notice he has been looking at me to. His face is unreadable as he asks, “What’s your address?” I tell him and he processes it for a moment before looking at me again. This time with a small side grin. I can’t help but smile back a little, after all he’s always had the same smile, ever since we were seventeen.

            “So you know how to get there?” I ask, and he nods. “I’ve got some whiskey I think,” I add a little quietly.

            “I can’t stay. Sarah and I have a dinner to go to, but another time maybe?” he asks. He seems a little unsure like maybe he can’t believe that after all these years this happened. I don’t think I’ve fully processed it. I don’t know if this will work, if somehow both of us can be friends again. But I think it’s worth a shot, and if he is willing, or at least pretends to be, than to hell with it. I’ll give it a shot,

            “Another time then,” I answer.


End file.
